


Stay Late

by riptey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Candy Canes, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riptey/pseuds/riptey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's trying to get a fresh start as a file clerk at the Ministry, and Hermione's trying to distract herself. Late nights and sweet snacks might be in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Late

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: candy cane

"So, what do you think he's doing for Christmas?" Andy has sucked the end of his candy cane down to a pointy sliver, and this is what he aims across the room to point at Draco. It looks like a crude Muggle weapon. 

Hermione is about to tell him the obvious, as gently as she can manage it: nothing. From what she's heard about his family lately, Draco will probably be doing nothing for Christmas. But before she can form the words, the subject himself looks up from the filing cabinet, fixing Andy with a penetrating look: _I heard that._

Andy looks away, pink rising on his cheeks. "Anyway," he says uncomfortably, "I should get back to my office. Thanks for the sweets!" 

"Anytime," she says. The candy canes are in a festive mug at the corner of her desk, so her coworkers can help themselves. 

As soon as he's gone, she slumps against her desk and allows her features to settle into a frown. She'd thought Andy was about to ask her out, and it isn't the first time she's thought so. Instead, as usual, they've had another pleasant round of small talk. It is getting exhausting. Ginny keeps saying she should do it herself, but she's sick of having to do every little thing for people. If he's interested, he can do it. She's given more than enough signals. 

***

What is Draco doing for Christmas? It's the million-Galleon question lately. He overheard some office whelp asking about it the other day, thinking they were being quiet enough. If Draco had a Sickle for every time some Ministry prick thought they were being subtle, talking about him from half-way across a room, he could reconstruct his family fortune. 

And now, the same thing from Granger's boyfriend, or whoever. The bloke who always hangs out by her desk after she approves his paperwork. Not really her type, one would think—he reminds Draco of Cormac McLaggen, and everyone knows what Granger thinks of him. But it's not like she'll be looking Draco's way anytime soon, so what does it matter who buzzes around her, sucking peppermint sticks and discussing other people's private holiday plans? Draco doesn't even know this bloke's name, and he already hates him. 

She's been nice to him since he started at the Ministry, at least. Probably feels bad for him. And if there's one perk to watching one's ancient family legacy crumble into dust before his eyes, he can at least let himself think about Granger without feeling like his sex drive is a blood traitor. 

Draco finishes his DMLE filing and heads back to the lifts—next up is Dept. of Magical Transportation. All in one exciting day's work for a Ministry clerk, with the added pleasure of seeing all his old classmates, more successful than him. Maybe for Christmas, Draco will buy himself a one-way Portkey to Majorca, and live as a Muggle on the beach—the simple life. Just like he's never wanted. 

***  


This is why Hermione tries to stop herself from flights of fancy. It's an asset in other ways, but her natural laser-focus betrays her sometimes. Once she fancies a bloke, she fancies him like the top student in some kind of demented bloke-fancying class, like she's trying to win some kind of prize for it. Once she meets the right person, her friends say, he'll be the luckiest fellow in the world to get that kind of attention from her. It's just that thus far, her targets haven't been worthy. 

The problem isn't Andy, though—not really. The problem is that she's been using the thought of him to distract herself, and if she stops thinking about him, she's in grave danger of fancying someone else. Because the truth is, if there really were an award for Most Demented Bloke Fancier, Hermione would have won it ten years ago for her single-minded devotion to a fantasy of Draco Malfoy. In absolute secrecy, in the face of such colossal displays of unworthiness that any other smart witch would have run far away, she has daydreamed of the heroic about-face redemption that led to him ending up with her. 

Ron distracted her for the length of their relationship, and then Draco wasn't nearby anymore, so he didn't have a chance to invade her thoughts too regularly. But now she and Ron are long-since toast, and Draco works at the Ministry, and she's right back in it like she never left. So if Andy's just here for the candy canes and a chat, then what's she supposed to do now? 

Try to look busy, that's what. Because the boy she really shouldn't like this much has arrived on her floor to file papers. It's the hair, really—it always has been. And his shoulders, though. Great shoulders. But really, she's a grown-up now, and she can get over this. 

*** 

"What are your holiday plans, Draco? I don't have a time-off request from you yet." His supervisor is asking him this time, and for once it isn't just out of idle curiosity. He can tell by her tone and the tilt of her head that she wants him to work extra hours, because she assumes he hasn't got anything to do. She's right. 

He puts aside the letter he's been writing on his break and shrugs his shoulders. "I don’t have any plans," he says. "That's why I didn't put in a request. I can work." 

"Are you sure you don't mind?" 

"Not at all." Here's the saddest part—these days, Draco needs the money. 

"All right. The office is closed Christmas Day, but if you really are fine with it, we can give you holiday pay to finish up a few things in the evenings leading up, starting the 20th. How's that sound?" 

He shrugs again. "Sounds fine to me." 

She smiles, relieved. "Great. I'll put you down for it. Thanks, Draco." He nods to her, and she turns to the schedule on the break room bulletin board. In black ink, she marks down his holiday hours. 

Once she's gone, he returns to his parchment. His mother has asked him, for the third time, to please come to Wales for Christmas. She thinks he's putting it off to upset her, but that's not true at all. In fact, he wishes she weren't so upset, because he does care about her. It's just that he can't stand the thought of another makeshift Malfoy Christmas, gathered around a paltry fire in sodding Wales. Now that the Manor's gone, none of them can really go home again. He'd just as soon stay at his own studio flat in London and get some holiday pay. 

She won't understand that, though, so he writes that he has to work. He rolls up the letter and stops by the staff owlery on his way to the lift. In the shiny surface of the door, he checks his clothes and fixes his hair, since he's headed to the DMLE next. It's bad enough being a file clerk, and he'd rather not let Granger see him with owl droppings on his robes. 

When he gets there, that McLaggen-type bloke is leaning on Granger's desk again, like he's got a standing appointment or something. He studies her face for a moment as they talk, sucking their candy canes, and tries to figure out whether she's just being polite or if she really likes him. He can't tell, and she glances up right in time to catch him brooding at her. He looks away quickly, feeling like a cliché of a creep. 

*** 

"...there's just no feeling like it. You should really try it sometime." Andy is talking about skiing. He and his family are avidly into the sport, and he talks about it rather often. 

"Yeah, it sounds quite invigorating." Really, to Hermione's ears, it sounds pointless, cold, and dangerous. But she likes Andy, and usually he's more interesting than this. It's just the skiing conversations that cause her attention to wander. The only problem is that it tends to wander off in the direction of the filing cabinets, looking for a sheen of blond hair. When she catches sight of Draco this time, he meets her eyes, like he was looking at her already, and then turns away. Odd, she thinks. 

"...but we'll try that run again when we're there over the holidays," Andy finishes. She hasn't really been listening, but he's already told her several times about the ski trip he's been planning, so she can fake it easily enough. 

"I'm sure it'll go better this time, after all that training," she says. "Have you still got a lot of work to do here before you go?" 

"Not really." He pauses, tapping the candy cane against his lips. "I guess I've just got the two St Mungo's cases to wrap up, and then I'm home free. How about you?" 

"Actually, I think I do. I might even have to come in on Christmas Eve." She wouldn't have had plans, anyway, but that's not something she wants to talk about. Her parents are making progress, but they don't always recognize her yet, and the mediwizards think making a big deal for the holidays would cause too much stress. 

"Christmas Eve, at work?" He pulls a face. "That's no fun." 

"I know, but I've got a lot on my plate. There's no way I'll finish in time, especially with the Bulgarians dragging their feet on the paperwork. They want us to miss our deadline, but they won't be that lucky." 

"Not on your watch!" Andy laughs and straightens up. "Well, I'd better get back downstairs. See you, Hermione." 

"See you!" 

When, though? When, exactly, is he going to see her again? Every day for ten minutes, apparently, ad infinitum. She shakes her head, frowning in the direction of her candy cane mug. 

*** 

Draco finishes some last-minute shopping. He doesn't mind the shopping part itself, but everyone he knows is so hard to buy for. When he was younger, his mother used to have everything, so that was difficult enough. Now, they're both on a budget, and she has so little that he feels like he has to get her something really good, or it'll be a waste. This year, after some painful deliberation, he settles on a pair of sapphire earrings that remind him of a pair she used to have. 

They weren't able to recover her jewelry when they lost the Manor, and since then he has seen his mother with bare ears for the first time in his life. The time-stretched puncture marks look grotesque to him, and it makes him realise that he never bothered to think about how the earrings stayed on his mother's ears. Now he has to think about the fact that it is via two small holes that go straight through her body. His imagination these days, too, has become rather morbid. It keeps twisting him in dark directions. 

So he buys her the earrings, hoping that she will at least wear them around him out of a polite sense of obligation. Then they will cover up the holes. 

With his mother out of the way, he buys the same gift for Greg Goyle and his father: a box of decent cigars. Now that he thinks about it, he can also get away with buying the same gift for both his mother and Pansy. He's headed back toward the jewelry shop when he passes Flourish and Blott's, which makes him slow down. He hasn't gotten anything for himself in a long time. He can't really afford to anymore, and he doesn't miss it so much. He's living cleaner now—less clutter. But a new book would be nice. 

He wanders in, basking in the scent of ink and parchment, and sees that one of his favourite fiction writers has a novel in the New Release section. He buys himself a copy, smiling at the cashier. 

*** 

Hermione goes to Diagon Alley, too, even though she's long-since finished with her holiday shopping. Her favorite author has just released a new novel, and she doesn't want to wait until after the holidays to pick up her copy. She's annoyed that it had to come out right before Christmas, because she hates the maddening rush of people who know they should have planned better, but who probably do this every year anyway. 

In Flourish & Blott's, she finds the book she came for and stands in line for the register. As she waits, she watches her fellow shoppers, squeezing irritably past one another. Holding something up to a companion for approval, then shaking their heads and putting it back in the wrong place. Then she sees him—the boy she thought would be her holiday date. Andy is looking at a shelf of charmed diaries, sealed by a spell that releases with the owner's touch. She thinks about giving up her place in line to go and say hello. He picks up one of the diaries, then looks up and says something. A woman comes over and rests her head on his shoulder, looking at the diary in his hands, and nods. Her hair brushes his cheek, and he smiles. He pulls back and then wraps his arm around her, offering her the small book, which she clutches against her chest.

Hermione turns away, reeling. No wonder the chats never went anywhere.

She feels stupid and a bit sick to her stomach. It isn't like she even liked him that much, but it feels awful to have gotten her hopes up. This is a sore spot for her, because of how things used to be with boys in school. She wonders if she'll always be dodging the sting of those early-on taunts and rejections, if she'll always feel silly trying to be loved.

***

On Draco's first holiday evening shift, there are three people left in the office: Granger and two middle-aged blokes he doesn't know. In his head, he's nicknamed them The Workaholics Society. He imagines that they have their own Christmas party, where they wear Santa hats and work. 

His own project for the holidays is drudgery at its finest. He has to look through the last three years' worth of cases having to do with potions misuse, because some of them may have been miscategorized. That means looking through hundreds of sloppily-filed pages, filled out in indecipherable old-person cursive. In the process, he's trying to ignore the fact that he and Granger are nearly alone in the office.

The second-to-last wizard takes his leave around seven o'clock, saying goodbye to them both on his way past. A few minutes later, just as Draco feared, the last wizard follows suit. Now it's just him and Granger. She'll probably be here all night, too. It's just like the old days, when they were always the last ones left in the Hogwarts library, and he'd peak at her between the stacks.

Then, Draco comes across a file that raises a question about departmental policy. As with many such questions, he can't keep working until he gets an answer. In the course of a normal workday, he directs his policy inquiries to whoever's nearby and doesn't seem too busy. For obvious reasons, he's never asked Granger, but now he has no choice. 

He grabs the relevant papers and approaches her desk cautiously. She's visibly confused when she notices him. "Er," she says, "did you need something?"

"Yes, actually." He holds up the files. "I have a question."

"Oh! Sure." Her posture relaxes. "Go ahead."

He maneuvers around the desk so he's leaning beside her, with the paper facing them both. "When it says 'P' in this field," he says, pointing at the document, "does that stand for Potion or Portkey?"

She looks where he's indicated, pushing her hair out of the way. "Potion. Portkey is 'PK.'"

"That's what I thought." He collects his papers and starts to walk away, but she calls after him, taking him by surprise.

"Malfoy?" He turns around, and she gestures toward the mug on the corner of her desk. "Would you like a candy cane?"

"Come again?"

"A candy cane," she repeats, as though it were normal for her to offer him sweets.

Confused but intrigued, he walks back toward the desk. She pulls out two of the striped sticks, then hands one to him and takes one for herself. He unwraps it and takes a taste, which brings him straight back to childhood. He hasn't had one of these in forever. "Thanks," he says. 

"No problem."

Papers and sweets in hand, he heads over to his side of the room and resumes his filing. When Granger leaves an hour later, she says goodbye on her way out, like she would to anyone else but never has with him. 

***

The candy cane was a reward of sorts. Draco was so polite yesterday when he asked for her help, and it made her feel less awkward about having to work alone with him all evening. So, she made the offer for that reason, maybe a positive reinforcement or something, and also because she suddenly had felt quite certain that he'd accept. 

Today, even just past noon, the office is already clearing out. Christmas is three days away, and those who haven't left for their vacations are leaving now. She'd been hoping Andy was gone, since she's not in the mood to chat with him anymore, but no such luck. Here he is, approaching her desk with some authorizations for her to sign off on.

"Hi, Hermione." He grabs a candy cane as he greets her, settling into his usual rakish lean on the side of her desk. A bit affected, now that she thinks about it. "Ready for Christmas?"

"Just about," she says, trying to keep the chill out of her voice. She reaches toward the papers in his hand. "Are these for me?"

"Yeah," he says, handing them over with a slight frown. "Everything all right?"

"I'm fine. Just getting through some pre-holiday stress." She gives him a smile. It's not his fault, really. She's just misjudged him: she thought he was flirting with her, when really he's just the overly charming sort. A Cormac McLaggen type, almost.

"Oh, I'm right there with you," he says, brightening. "Still got to pack for this week, and if we forget any of our gear, we'll be in real trouble! One year, my brother thought he packed all the bindings..."

She tunes him out, finishing up the paperwork while occasionally supplying an affirmation. Andy really is somewhat of a bore. Sure, it's nice to have a date to the holiday party circuit, but she's relieved that it won't be him.

***

At 6PM, the last other Ministry worker leaves, and it's just the two of them again. He feels less uneasy this time, but now he's curious. He knows Granger's an unusually hard worker, but that can't be the reason she's the only one still here. Maybe her home life never quite came back together, either.

That unlikable bloke came by again today, but she didn't seem as keen as usual. Draco is starting to doubt that he's Granger's boyfriend. In fact, Draco's starting to think she might still be as lonely as he is, and that's exactly what pulled him toward her years ago. Like recognizes like. 

They were like spare ghosts at Hogwarts, wandering the halls at night with their Prefect badges to protect them, claiming to be doing rounds when really they just couldn't sleep, couldn't sit still. Of course, Draco can't say for sure that this was the case for her; he only knows why he was there. But there were times when he would meet her eyes and know. They never said anything to each other, in all those years of late-night accidental meetings, but they often looked into each other's eyes. How strange it is now to think that they never said a word. 

And now, they are silent again, alone again, at night again. 

***

Hermione watches his shoulders as he bends his head forward, opening and closing the drawers of files. She watches the muscles move, noting how harmoniously his body lends itself to a physical task. Then she turns her gaze abruptly downward, because she is staring. She has this irrational fear that he will feel her eyes, turn, and catch her. She gets back to work, but then she sees him moving toward her in her peripheral. She waits until he's beside the desk to look up. He has a paper in his hand.

"Yes, Draco?" His name sounds foreign on her tongue, and she doesn't know why she felt the need to say it. It was done before she thought it over. 

"I have another question," he says. He places the paper down on her desk, then stands next to her. It's probably the closest they've ever been, barring the time she slapped his face. "If this case was brought in February of 1994, did the employer's insurance have to cover property damages?"

"Yes," she says. "That provision went into effect the first of that year."

"Okay. Thanks," he says. He takes back his paper, but he doesn't walk away. She looks up to find that he's still looking at her. "Can I have a candy cane?"

Her smile is too large for the situation, but she can't help it. It feels so sweet. "Go ahead," she says. "I'll have one, too."

He pulls two candy canes from the mug, then hands one to her. She thinks he's going to go back to work, but instead he leans against her desk, sort of like Andy does. She looks at his face, closer than usual, and sees how it's changed since school. He looks older than his age; she knows these years have been hard for him. She wonders how much he's changed inside.

"Are you working late all week?" he asks.

She can tell from the motion of his eyes that he's studying her as well. "Yeah, even Christmas Eve," she says, trying not to look too sad. The night before Christmas was always the special one in her childhood home. _Maybe next year_ , say the mediwizards. _There is every reason to keep up hope._ "How about you?"

He holds up his papers. "Plenty more where these came from."

It's a real shame he's a file clerk—he was the only other student ever to break the curve in Arithmancy, once upon a time. Funny how things turn out. "That must be pretty mind-numbing," she says.

He smiles sardonically. "Numb isn't so bad, comparatively speaking."

It's a darker response than she expected. "I guess that's true."

"Depending who you ask," he continues, "I should be happy to be here at all." He shrugs, popping the candy in his mouth, not looking at her.

"Well, I'm not interested in what those people think." She knows the sort he means, probably including Andy. But aside from them, even Hermione's friends—the ones who actually fought, who were _there_ —well, they think the Malfoys have done their time. They paid, quite literally, with everything they owned. When the family lost their home, most people with any compassion thought it was enough.

"Me, neither," he says. They look at each other seriously for a moment. She offers a small smile, and he doesn't quite return it, but his expression softens. "Anyway, I should get back to work."

"Me, too.

***

He hadn't meant for yesterday's conversation to get so... heavy. But that's how Granger's energy is. She's so serious herself that it feels like a person shouldn't waste her time with trivialities.

Today, by the time the last other wizard leaves the office, he's come up with a question to ask her. He already knows the answer, but that doesn't matter. He waits until they've been alone for a little while, then casually makes his way over to her desk. She smiles this time when she sees him coming, a pretty smile. For some reason, he thinks of that time he cursed her teeth. If Granger had understood little boys at all, she'd have known how he felt about her right then.

"Question?" she says, raising her eyebrows, and he can tell she knows what he's up to. Impulsively, he tucks his papers under his arm.

"No," he admits. "Just here for the snacks."

Her smile widens. She pushes her chair away from her desk, turning sideways to face him. He takes a candy cane and hands one to her. "You know," she says, "we're reading the same book."

"Really? The new Gorevitch?"

She nods. "I saw you bring it in. He's my favorite. How do you like it?"

It's good so far," he says. "I've only just started it, though. Don't you think he's been a bit formulaic the past few years?"

She shrugs, thinking it over. "I think you could make that argument about the plot structure, but I feel like he's been fine-tuning his use of language. If you look past the sequence of events, there's stylistic growth. I think he's approaching a major breakthrough in his work."

She makes a valid point. "I suppose I've noticed that. But I also think he could stand to push the characters—they all come from a similar background, which is itself similar to the author's..."

***

"...but you've failed to account for the political climate at the time. Look, it's a common mistake—you can't read Hooksmith without the requisite historical knowledge. Here—oh!" Granger cuts herself off and freezes mid-sentence.

"What?"

"It's just, er. It's eight o'clock." She looks at him in surprise, a flush rising on her cheeks.

"Oh," he says. He hadn't realized how long they'd been talking, either. It's been the most interesting conversation he's had in a long time.

***

On Christmas Eve, no one else shows up at all. It's just her for most of the day, and she stays as busy as she can. There's a soft, lovely snow falling outside, and it makes her want to cry. Her dad would have loved it. He probably still does, it's just anyone's guess whether he knows today that he has a daughter. The mediwizards said Hermione could have gone to see them today, provided she acted like it was an ordinary day, but that didn't feel right. Instead, she's going to spend tomorrow with the Potters and see her parents next week. At least she's making good progress on her work—she'll be well ahead after the holidays. On her lunch break, she reads a few chapters of her book, and she smiles as she remembers her conversation with Draco the night before. 

In the late afternoon, he arrives, and the room immediately feels warmer. Strange, because she still thinks of him as being cold. They exchange greetings when he comes in, and it feels almost friendly. She returns to her work, looking up occasionally, discreetly, to watch the fluid movements of his body across the room.

A while later, he approaches her desk. She notices that instead of the usual file folder, he's holding a bag. "How's your work going?" he asks.

"It's all right," she says. Really, she's just finding things to do at this point. She's been waiting for him to come over more than anything.

"Right, but how long before you're finished?"

She looks at him, then again at the bag in his hand. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I brought us a Christmas present." He reaches into the bag to produce a bottle of Firewhisky, and she gasps with joy. It's not her favorite drink, but she's delighted all the same. He places the bottle on her desk and takes out two plastic glasses.

"Actually, I think I'm done right now," she says, pushing her papers and quill out of the way.

"Perfect." He grabs a chair from the next desk over and takes a seat. He opens the bottle and pours the first glass, which he hands to her, before fixing one for himself.

"Thanks for the refreshments," she says. "Cheers."

He meets her toast. "Thanks for the candy."

She takes a sip, and it burns, but she doesn't mind. "So, as I was saying about Hooksmith..."

_fin_


End file.
